


Equinox

by LotusRox, thelonebamf



Series: Run From Their Company [4]
Category: Metal Gear
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Pre-Relationship, implied alcohol abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-21
Updated: 2016-03-25
Packaged: 2018-05-08 02:47:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5480417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LotusRox/pseuds/LotusRox, https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelonebamf/pseuds/thelonebamf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They've escaped, they've run, they've survived- and it's on Hal now to make sure they continue to do so. While Dave resents the fact that he's been forced into inaction, necessity has forced both their hands, though it soon becomes clear that neither of them are suited for this kind of life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Winter

“Everything okay, Eric?”

 

Hal looks up from his work abruptly, _Good job, that seemed almost natural_ and gives a smile and nod as he continues clearing the plates from the long tables that fill the shelter’s dining hall.

 

“Yeah, sorry- just got a little lost in my thoughts. It’s my b-”

 

Nope. _Wow_. He’s congratulated himself a little too early it seems.

 

“-my turn to wash the dishes from lunch, I think.”

 

It doesn’t pay anything, his work at the shelter- but it had never sat right with him, taking home food and clothing, without giving something in return. So his visits usually last several hours as he does his best to help with the cleaning (not the cooking, _never_ the cooking) and anything else they might need.

 

It means they aren’t in danger of starving to death, which is essential.

 

It means he and Dave finally have multiple changes of clothing again which is fantastic. (He isn’t sure he can take another afternoon of staring firmly at the wall while Dave stands bare-assed, scrubbing at a sink full of laundry with dish soap and his bare hands).

 

It means he is out of the house for several hours almost daily, in a relatively secure location- which gives them both plenty of much needed time apart.

 

And if “Eric” has no other reputation here aside from being “that shy young man with the glasses” then all the better.

 

He is doing his best to help them both rebuild, bit by bit, every day. And every night… well, they don’t ever talk about it. Hal doesn’t really know what to say, and Dave’s well for conversation these days seems all but dry. Instead it all happened wordlessly. Dave would take a seat on the mattress, pull the blanket over himself. Hal would finish whatever he was doing and hit the lights- and find his place beside him.

 

And together, they slept.

* * *

 

Inactivity is going to kill him.

 

Dave has gone through the books Hal had brought to him in the meantime. Even the Grishams got their turn (and he had made a mental note of telling Hal legal thrillers aren’t really his thing). He had forgotten this had been a pleasurable thing for him, before. But in all honesty, he might have gotten back his enjoyment of reading more readily had their predicament been less dire.

 

He hasn’t been able to relax, at all. Even if they are marginally better off than at the beginning of their stay in Winnipeg, with clothes and food… their overall situation… Well it had to be as temporary as they could make it, it was just so damn _unsustainable._

True to his word, Dave only left the apartment when there was an absolute need for it.

Hal had protested that they didn’t need the money, though Dave had insisted. Together, they had reached an agreement so he’d take it easy while assuaging the fact _he was dead weight_ to his way of thinking.  He had lowered the frequency of his outings to dumpster-dive for cash since their last ‘conversation’, mindful of not worsening the injury now the temperature had dropped. Mid-continental Canada or not, it wasn’t going to snow yet. Not in the second half of September. But the weather had worsened in the last ten days, and his ribs hadn’t stopped protesting the fact since then.

 

If the guy at the grocery store by the corner judged Dave for buying cheap cigarettes and cheaper vodka every other day, he honestly wouldn’t give a single fuck about it. He had a laundry list of more pressing issues to pay attention to.

 

Getting his shit together. Sharing Hal’s bed without allowing his own troubles disturb him, since he was the one who went out and quite literally brought home the bread for them. Getting them both out of Winnipeg.

 

At least his careful doses meant he hadn’t been getting drunk… and hadn’t been having nightmares, either.

 

That had to count a little, cohabitation-wise.

 

Hal had left the shelter in high spirits, coming back not only with an armful of essentials, but a lead on some gainful employment at someone’s brother’s-girlfriend’s-aunt’s-cousin’s cafe. It might have been a long shot, but it was something positive to focus on, and that is just about all that he has to keep him going these days.

 

He pauses on the porch, taking a moment to catch his breath after the walk, but also to re-affix the smile to his face and take a deep breath before opening the door.

He sets down his load, glancing at the stack of books, making a mental note to return them. They are likely due back soon, and perhaps on the second round he could pick more things Dave is actually interested in.

 

“I’m h- back,” he says as cheerfully as he can manage, shutting the door behind him. “Sorry I’m a little late, clean-up took a bit longer than usual, but the good news is I might be able to get some part time work, if things pan out.” He pulls a seat up next to Dave’s and peers at him curiously. “Everything okay?”

 

It’s good to see Hal in such spirits, actually.

 

“I’m alright. Don’t worry about the time”, Dave answers, and he isn’t quite smiling but he isn’t in a bad mood. “That is good news. Hope it works out.”

 

It’s not like he enjoys the idea of Hal going away further than the shelter, actually, but a more reliable source of income is _a necessity._ He needs to take charge, help take care of that. But his ideas all involve extensive use of his ribcage. Even he knows he needs to let himself heal.

 

Hal taking a job is still a more realistic option. Even if Dave resents his own confinement.

 

The apartment doesn’t smell of cigarette smoke, but Dave does. He stands up before Hal can take a whiff and, opening the door of their mini fridge, takes out a couple of pieces of deli chicken. He puts on a pan with a drop of oil to heat them up, knowing the food Hal is bringing probably’s still warm.

 

 _‘Not enough protein in those shelter dishes’_ , he had explained the first time he had done this. Hal had looked at him with the saddest expression and Dave hadn’t known how to clarify it wasn’t a jab against him - that he had just wanted to bring food home too, to take better care of a Hal Emmerich who was already thin to the point of fragility even _before_ they came to Winnipeg.

Having a conversation these days is like infiltrating a minefield, and knowing which of them will go off is an impossibility. Dave finds himself often wishing for a map.

 

“Take some”, he says, and slides a plate towards him. He takes out the food Hal brought too, and sits by his side, eating in silence.

 

Short responses made of shorter words. _Keep your distance Hal. It’s time to tread carefully. Give him his space. As much as you can, anyway._

He serves himself in silence but as he brings the first forkful of food to his lips he grimaces.

 

“Hands still smell like bleach,” he says. “Be right back.”

 

Halfway through washing his hands at the bathroom sink, he recognizes the sound of water constantly rushing, the tank of the commode filling and refilling.

 

Hal groans, removes the lid of the tank with mild annoyance, hoping that he won’t have to do anything more complicated than jiggle the handle or nudge that weird black balloon looking thing he never learned the name for. _Gonna have to wash up again._

Two full minutes later, Hal is seated at the table again, hands set on either side of his plate as he stares straight ahead. Hand trembling slightly, he reaches out for his fork a second time, determined to make it through the meal in peace, but finds he’s lost his appetite.He can do this. He can make it through the next ten minutes. He can act like everything is -

 

No. No, fuck, normalcy. He can’t waste any more of his life pretending things are okay.

 

“Dave?” He fingers tighten around the handle of his fork, metal growing warm in his hand.

 

“…What the hell, Dave? What do you think you’re doing?”

 

Something had gone wrong. He had known immediately, as soon as Hal had gotten out of the bathroom, ghostly pale and tense enough to be clumsy at handling the doorknob.

 

He… knew what was in the tank. It was obvious that was the reason. There was still half of it left, he would’ve disposed of the bottle otherwise. And yet–

 

“You’ll have to be more specific than that.”

 

He’s barely looking at Hal. The guilt burns right under his windpipe and he can feel the tension filling the room. Static crackling, giving him goosebumps.

 

He doesn’t have the gall to be _angry_ at being discovered. Wouldn’t dare.

 

“Specific,” Hal echoes, only hollowness in his voice.

 

“You want me to be specific?” He slams the fork down on the table so hard it make the plates jump slightly.

 

“Let me be very specific, David.” He’s not going to let those tears form, won’t allow them to fall. This is too important and he can’t let his weakness get in the way of saying exactly what he feels.

 

‘What the hell do you think you’re doing with a half finished bottle of alcohol hidden away in the toilet? Pretending that everything iwas fine with us? Letting me think- god, that you actually trusted me?”

 

He’s shaking, can’t bear to look at Dave, can’t afford to look away.

 

“Did you even try? That bottle is half empty. Should I be patting you on the back for showing restraint?”

 

Dave reels under that sharp, accusatory tone. Can’t help it, feels defensive aggression stir inside himself - rushing through his blood even if he knows Hal has all the right in the world to be as livid as he is now.

 

“It’s not about restraint”, he says, tone cold and even; he _fights himself for it,_ because he recognizes all the signals within and _Hal doesn’t deserve his petty anger issues._

He takes a deep breath. He has his reasons to have done what he– never stopped doing, actually.

“It’s not about trusting you. _Not everything is about you._ ”

 

… That. Had come out wrong. He stops, sits straighter in the chair. Whatever he was going to explain, the opportunity for it had died by his own hand.

 

He had fucked up.

 

Hal bites his lip so hard he’s surprised he doesn’t draw blood.

 

“You’re right,” he says quietly. “This is about you.”

 

He’s never- not in his entire life- wanted to hit someone before, but for the first time he’s wondering what it would be like, if it would in any way make him feel better.

 

“But for a brief moment, Dave- I thought it was about _us_.”

 

“I was wrong though, it’s about you.” His voice cracks, but he can’t be bothered to care- feels as though all the care has been drained from him. “You and your absolute devotion to destroying yourself, whatever it takes. Hell, was it even an accident? You driving the car into the river? Maybe you really just wanted to sink yourself once and for all.”

 

He loses the fight against himself, feels all too familiar tracks burning their way down his face.

 

“So then, why bring me along for the fucking ride? Unless you just wanted some company? Couldn’t stand to go alone, needed an audience?” He slams a hand down on the table. “It doesn’t fucking work that way, you snake. If you go down, I’m right there beside you.”

 

“I _never_ wanted to drag you into this”, he stays there, still. Speaks quietly, trying to see if the low volume masks a little bit the bile rising inside.

 

Dave does his best to push it down, to control his temper… Hal is half his weight. He’d never, ever touch Hal with the poison that is currently curling his hands into fists.

 

He has no right to feel attacked over this. He knows that.

 

“Why the fuck you think I never said anything about it? Besides not wanting your pity?”

 

An audience is the last thing he wanted.

 

Alaska seems too far away from here, and Dave right now craves its silence.

 

“I- wanted to keep you safe.”

 

_… I don’t trust myself. And neither should you._

“Pity? You think this is about pity?” He stares at the man, wondering how anyone could possibly be so wrong with so few words. “Dave what the hell does this have to do with pity? Do you pity me? For what I told you? Is that the only reason you pretended to try and stop? To make me feel better? Is that how this works?”

 

He shoves himself away from the table, chair making a horrible sound on the floor.

 

“Or no, you really believe that, don’t you? This is about keeping me _safe._ I’m the weak one that needs protection and Dave is supposed to be the invincible…secret agent who… fucking…can’t…even keep his hands to himself when he gets drunk!”

 

The sound of blood rushing through his ears with a waterfall’s roar becomes overwhelming.

 

Dave stands up, dizzy. Muscles twitching in containment, and a 20-meters drop in his belly.

 

   _Can’t even keep his hands to himself when he gets drunk._

 

Hal’s words will echo inside of him for a long time. And his anger still boils, but the tide has shifted.  Because those words aren’t anything he hasn’t told to himself anyway.

 

The only certain thing is, If he stays, they’ll both regret it.

 

Empty, tone bitter and hopeless, “Never pitied you. Not even in New York.”

 

He goes to the door. He needs to get away.

 

Dave is leaving, walking to the door and damn it,  Hal can’t summon the energy to stop him. He should be standing right now, running up behind him, grabbing on to him and telling him to stay-

 

-so why can’t he move?

 

No he can’t. He can’t let this happen right now. Forces himself in an instant that feels like an hour to turn his head, watch Dave’s retreating form. Forces himself out of the chair. Forces himself to _move._

_“Don’t you leave, you don’t get to run away.”_ It isn’t until the words are out of his mouth that he realizes he’s practically tackled the man rammed him sideways into the wall in a fit of anger, adrenaline and surprise the only possible explanation.

 

Dave could throw him to the ground in an instant. Punch him in less than a second. Knock him out without a thought. But these facts do nothing to make him withdraw- so he simply stands there, fists resting on his chest, fighting every impulse not to pound out his frustrations where they’d only aggravate the wounds.

 

“You’re an expert in survival Dave. So I get it, it’s going to tough to beat out that instinct no matter how much you want to, and I’ve got a front row seat to the whole ordeal.” His voice is a growl, throat burning, he wants to scream and cry but can only force out strangled words.

 

There’s a flash of pain, the physical kind, at that assault - the hairline fractures in his ribs protesting its haste. Dave catches himself just in time to redirect his hand, grab violently at the doorknob instead of Hal. Knuckles turning white with the force of his grip.

 

Automatic reactions, at this point. How can he _ignore_ them?

 

Eyes wild, he forces his respiration to calm, quiets the low growl rumbling on his throat.

 

“You’re not yourself”, Dave hisses.

 

But he doesn’t move.

 

  _Can’t even keep his hands to himself when he gets drunk._

 

Dave needs to get the fuck away but he doesn’t move. He closes his eyes.  He isn’t even attempting to be patronizing. He realizes why Hal would been angry at what he found, that’s not the part that hurts.

 

Every nerve in his body feels both knotted and on edge at the same time. And Dave _doesn’t move._

“Not myself? What the hell does that even mean, Dave?” He lowers his arms, takes a step back to look at him. “I guess you’re the expert, though, huh?”

 

He runs his hands into his hair, frantically scrabbling at his scalp in frustration.

 

“No, Dave, that’s just it- I am myself. I’m telling you what I think, just like you wanted me to, remember? And now you don’t like it, just like I knew you wouldn’t- but maybe the truth is what you don’t like is _me._ ”

 

His shoulders slump, head falls, and chest grows tight with anger and fear. “So what’s going to happen now? If you can’t stop? You keep this up? Might as well keep the bottle on the counter. Drink in front of me. At least stop lying.”

 

The words get stuck in between his teeth, kinda, but he forces them out. “I’m trying to not get you killed in my sleep just by the virtue of being _right next to me.”_

That’s one of the things he meant by ‘not trusting himself’. There’s too much violence taking up permanent residence inside of him, and all of the means to make it deadly. He has already attacked him once while half asleep.

 

But not as badly as when half-drunk, apparently.

 

“I asked for your input. I appreciate it.”

 

His voice doesn’t waver. His shields don’t go down. Only his body shakes, with the occasional heavy shivers traveling down him.  There’s too much inside, again, and it’s true he either uses that to fight or drinks it down until he can’t feel it.

 

He isn’t doing either right now.

 

“But, this isn’t like you”, and the tension snaps, somehow, without him moving from the place he’s pinned to, or changing his tone. “You’re--"

 

He bites at his lip, changes the sentence midway, rasping. "Please. Stop.”

 

Still, the look in his eyes is clear enough. _You’re hurting me._

 

Hal freezes at Dave’s expression, examines each fragment of truth, every one dragged out unwillingly.

 

_You wanted him to be honest with you, Hal. Or can’t you take it?_

He stares at Dave for a solid minute, transfixed at the look on his face- one of such poorly concealed fear, he’s never seen one like it outside of a mirror.

 

There’s a lurch in his stomach as he realizes what Dave has been protecting him from this whole time.

 

_He’s been afraid, just like you -not of being weak- but of being too strong._

_And you just implied that he used that strength against you._

Somehow in the span of a few minutes, Hal Emmerich has done what countless soldiers and operatives have failed to. He’s actually _hurt_ Dave. And the only way he could possibly have done so was if Dave actually cared about what he had to say.

 

_He wasn’t hiding it because he doesn’t trust you, he doesn’t trust himself._

_You’re worried about him destroying himself and leaving you alone because he’s the only person you have in the world._

_Did you ever stop to consider the same might be true for him?_

He raises a hand to cover his mouth, as though somehow it will ward off the bile and vitriol he’s been spewing up until now.

 

“Dave, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to-” his throat burns, words refusing to come out. “I-I was out of line.”

 

He hadn’t meant to reveal that much.

 

The same minute Hal spends being horrified at himself, at the realization dawning on him, David spends regretting talking. He’s… open raw, and he’s not used to the feeling. He never wanted to show his hand, wouldn’t have done so unless–

 

The weight pulling at his every tendon, tensing them as springs ready to snap, hasn’t gone. But Dave, he retreats inside of himself. Harder to do when he has _public_ like this, just as Hal said, but nothing good can come out of him keeping on reacting. Honesty, so far, hasn’t done anything for them.

 

He never wanted to slip and let himself be seen. That wasn’t him.

 

He had never wanted to _need_ anyone else, either. Especially not since FOXHOUND.

 

Dave schools his features until only severity remains… along with the bitterness he can’t conceal, just out of the sheer _quantity_ of it. And says nothing.

 

It’s terrible, the way the hurt melts from Dave’s features, like a slow-motion transformation from a horror film; the man vanishes until only something inhuman remains. It’s too much, Hal can’t bear to look.

 

But he can’t afford to look away.

 

Because if he looks away, Dave will be gone. Maybe he’ll run out the door. Maybe he’ll just leave for good, once and for all. Or maybe- and Hal thinks this might be worse, he’ll just keep retreating further into himself until he’s incapable of returning, perhaps forever.

 

“Dave, I mean it. I’m sorry.” He says, knowing it’s not enough, it will never be enough.

 

“I’m not the victim here. We’re both here because of decisions we both made, I understand that. And I know you would never-” he sighs, just so tired of always being the one screwing things up, “- you’d never hurt me…”

 

“…like I’ve hurt you…” he adds quietly.

 

Hal’s words do reach him, but Dave still won’t look at him.

 

“Don’t have an answer for this”, he mutters.

 

The worst part of it, for him, is that he still doesn’t want to leave. Not permanently, at least. Had it been any other person, he would have gone away and never looked back, no matter the circumstances. He doesn’t _do_ the “people” thing. In a way, he always knew they’d end up like this… and now it’s finally happened, and he still doesn’t know what to do.

 

Where do they stand? What are they going to do now?

 

He shakes his head, and slowly moves away from the spot where he had been frozen. And if he paces around the small apartment, it’s– he needs to unwind.

 

“I did, though. Hurt you. Can’t blame you for reacting.”

 

He should probably get away for a couple of hours. Stewing inside the apartment like this…

 

He picks up a jacket, one of the pieces of clothing Hal had brought from the shelter. He puts it on, and takes the keys, and what’s left of his cigarettes. Only then he looks at Hal.

 

“I’ll be back.”

 

“Okay.” Hal says, as plainly as possible, trying not to let uncertainty show in his voice.

 

_I’m sorry I hurt you. I’m sorry I didn’t realize I could. I’m sorry I made this about you. I’m sorry I made this about me. I’m sorry I pushed you away. I’m sorry I made you think I don’t want you…closer._

“I’ll see you later.”

 

_I know you need space. I know you need time. I know you’re trying to take care of yourself the only way you know how. I know you’re coming back. I trust you._

 He can only hope that Dave understands.

 

When the door closes he doesn’t move for a moment, before it suddenly becomes very important that he busy himself with cleaning the apartment. It doesn’t take long to wash the dishes, clean up the counter and table. He even retrieves the damn bottle from the bathroom, gives it a wipe down and leaves it on the counter. He might have been angry when he said it, but if Dave does need to self-medicate, he really would rather prefer it happened where he can see it.

 

Tasks done, body and mind weary, he finally undresses and throws himself onto the bed, still careful to remain on “his” side.

 

You never knew, after all.

 

Dave might forgive him.

 

* * *

 

He needs this so badly.

 

To just get away.

 

To clear his head.

 

Dave runs.

 

He runs and pays no attention to how quickly it had grown dark outside, ignores the temperature drop - because he can stand the latter as long as he is moving. Doesn’t think about how they’re in the kind of neighborhood where he could easily get mugged - because he knows that nobody out here stands a chance against him if it comes to that.

 

He doesn’t think at all, and it’s a blessing..

 

He runs, and everything gets reduced to the strain of his muscles shedding off the inactivity, the push and pull of their movement and the heat they give off, the sheer joy and satisfaction of being outside, alone, racing himself until everything in him protests, and letting the endorphins do their job.

 

This, he can understand. Even the stitches of his half-healed ribs are welcome.

 

He only comes back in the dead of the night, cooled off in every sense of the word. He’d traded running for walking, the last two kilometers, and had a smoke in celebration.

 

David still doesn’t have an answer to give Hal. He doesn’t think there _is_ a solution, for whatever has happened between them, or for the kind of mess inside of himself that had– _started it all._

…He doesn’t think he’s going to be able to stop dwelling in Hal’s words, either.

 

But as he opens the door to their small apartment, and sees Hal laying down as if sleeping… it’s a relief to realize he isn’t on the verge of exploding anymore, and that he indeed has found some sort of resolve. Even if it’s not the solution they’re in need of.

 

It’s just, _inaction suits him poorly._

 

Dave says nothing, closes the door, and doesn’t bother with the lights. Not even the bitter sight of the bottle on the counter is enough of a taunt to bring him back to the state he had been in, a couple of hours ago, or to change his mind on what he needs to do.

 

He disappears to shower. Ten minutes later, as dry as he can get, he’s sliding inside the blankets of their bed by Hal’s side, still silent and yet–

 

He’s going to need these hours of sleep. It’s not quite a matter of trust. But… it’s a start.

 


	2. Spring

_ Hal, _

 

_ I can’t stay inside like this.  _

 

_ Got a job unloading cargo at St. Norbert. I have to be there at 0500. _

 

_ There’s something for you inside the fridge.  _

 

_ I’m sorry. _

 

_ Happy Birthday. _

 

The paper is covered in wrinkles, made soft by constant handling. Hal has read over the note a dozen times, trying to coax meaning from the few brief lines. 

 

Dave has decided to wound himself further with employment that would only hinder his healing process and frankly, Hal is out of energy to argue the point. He knew how he felt about it, and has made his decision. There isn’t anything else to say.

 

And indeed, he’d been gone when Hal woke up in the morning, although he’d felt him come lie down in the dark. At least Dave wasn’t letting his anger affect his his willingness to take care of his basic well-being, hadn’t insisted on spending the night on the floor or in a chair. 

 

No, at the very least, Dave is trying hard to recover some sense of normalcy between them, even though Hal has done his absolute best to ruin everything. He stares down at the cupcake on the table, still sitting in its plastic casing, cheerful, plastic pick wishing him a Happy Birthday.

 

_ M’m not a kid… _

 

It isn’t as though Hal had any way of knowing. Dave still takes care of the “in-house” food prep as it were, so he doesn’t have much need to look in the fridge unless he is putting groceries away. And it isn’t like they have money to spare, so the fact that Dave had seen fit to get him something…

 

_ Can I get…ah… get you something?  _

 

Hal sits there for a while, eventually reaching out to take a fingerful of the pink icing into his mouth. Strawberry. Or, more accurately- the artificial flavor everyone identified as strawberry, although it bore little resemblance to the real thing. Oh, god- is he accusing a dessert of lying to him? He  _ is _ paranoid.

 

He peels the wrapper away and carefully splits the cake, breaking apart onehalf into small pieces he pops into his mouth, trying to think about what to do next.

 

_ … nothing has to happen, if you don’t want to. _

 

He feels a twist in his stomach that has nothing to do with the sudden influx of sugar. What the hell is wrong with him? Has he actually, in his heart of hearts, grown accustomed to being the victim? Was he so set in that role that even when another person went out of their way  _ at every single point _ to make him comfortable, he would still dare to say it hadn’t been enough?

 

His fingers twist the paper wrapper back around what was left of the cake and he returns it to its plastic prison. 

 

It is probably best if he just sits and reads quietly while he waits for Dave to return. The world can do without Hal Emmerich for a day.

 

Dave arrives back at the building a little before 9 PM. Exhausted, yet in good spirits - which is a good thing given he is going to have to explain everything he had managed to accomplish in less than 24 hours.

 

Starting with the lie in that note left by the fridge.

 

He leaves the car parked by the sidewalk. Cheap Ford Cortina from the 70′s with a scarred paint job, he highly doubts anyone would be interested in alleviating him from it anyway. He isn’t proud of the small flash of doubt when he takes out the grocery bag from the backseat, slings a backpack over his shoulder. He squashes it down.

 

He lingers by the entrance, smoking a cigarette before going in. Somehow, getting back inside this apartment doesn’t feel as easy as breaking into the one they had left at Thunder Bay.

 

Crushing the butt of his smoke under a heel and shifting to arrange his cargo a little bit, he inhales a long, deep breath before rapping the familiar knock against the door. 

 

Hal is home. He can hear him, inside.

 

Though the faint shuffling outside the door indicates someone is standing outside, Hal makes no motion to head toward the sound. If it’s Dave, he’ll come inside when he’s ready. If it isn’t… well, Hal could do little to stop anyone strong enough to break the door down.

 

Unsurprisingly it’s only the span of a cigarette before there is a familiar knock and the door, and Dave makes his way inside.

 

Hal assumes he’s imagining the guilty look he sees on his face.

 

“Hey,” he says quietly, looking back down at his book, worried things may be too fragile for extended eye contact. “Welcome back. Everything go okay at the job?”

 

“Everything ok”, he confirms, and sets down the grocery bag on the counter. “You had dinner yet?”

 

Before Hal answers, he starts taking out the food he brought. As he puts inside the fridge the stuff that needs it, the smell of takeout Chinese slowly wafting from its cartons starts filling the room.

 

“Sit down. We’re going to talk”, he says. Serious, but there’s no bite in his words. “But, food first.”

 

_ So you can’t throw it to my face, _ he doesn’t add. Dave has spent the majority of a seven-hour drive contemplating how the hell is he going to explain this. He isn’t even reluctant. 

 

He just wishes he knew how Hal will react to stuff anymore.

 

Hal positively groans as the smell of takeout fills his nostrils and he hops up immediately to grab a plate for each of them, fill their mugs with water.

 

“Oh, no, kinda- forgot. Had some cake earlier though. Thanks.” He smiles sheepishly.

 

“Surprised you remembered, honestly.”

 

_ Surprised you thought it worth remembering, _ would be more accurate.

 

If Dave’s tone unnerves him, he doesn’t show it, expects it- rather. He knows they’re not done talking, there’s still a lot between them to discuss.

 

He just didn’t expect it so  _ soon _ .

 

“Let’s eat then,” he agrees, scooping a pile of rice onto his plate, absolutely entranced at sight of brown sauce pooling around it. 

 

And despite the growl of hunger making itself known in his belly, he is sure to take his time.

 

Dave sees Hal’s expression, eyes bright with hunger, and wordlessly pushes the carton of rice towards him. He brought more than enough for two, and it seems like he hasn’t eaten either.

 

“I remembered the date from your file”, Dave offers after a while. “Wasn’t much.”

 

He gets lost in the flavors for a moment, eating his fill. It’s been so long since they have been able to afford something like this. And… they are celebrating, in a way. For more than Hal knows.

 

David is just hoping Hal sees it his way once he tells him.

 

Silence between them has become a staple, and it still hasn’t lost its awkwardness. He thinks of Landon’s Bay, when the mistakes he had made had begun to broaden the distance between them all over again, so shortly after they had finally started to get along. Of course he had noticed it. And the thing was, he had allowed it. He had been too convinced of not wanting a partner, back then. Had been too set in his ways.

 

Had been too ashamed of the way he had slipped, getting drunk like that and hurting Hal and not even having the small mercy of actually forgetting what had happened the previous night.

 

No way to fix what had happened there, no. Or to fix the kind of continued state of vulnerability and aggression they had been in since they had left Thunder Bay for Winnipeg due to the combined mistakes of both. What he can do is to get them another chance at actually living. Hopefully as far away as they could from this godforsaken city.

 

And, that’s precisely what he has done.

 

There’s not a scrap of food left in the cardboard boxes, even though it means Hal’s stomach aches a little from overeating. In the back of his mind he thinks perhaps they should have saved some for later, but leftovers are never as good right? It has nothing to do with him wanting to delay the conversation he feels is coming.

 

The table is cleared, plates are washed all in a silence that sits somewhere precisely between tense and amicable. 

 

“I left half the cupcake, by the way. I know we don’t typically have a lot of cash around for…” He paused, looked back at the plastic sack dangling from the drawer that contained the garbage from the most extravagant meal they’d had in weeks.

 

“Dave… what did you want to talk about?”

 

Dave doesn’t mind the lack of leftovers, he had anticipated that. He’s just pleased that Hal had eaten a good meal - He had brought stuff to fix a decent breakfast, too.

 

“There’s a lot to talk about, actually”, sighing, he takes a seat again. “In any case - the cupcake was for you. Go finish it.”

 

Where to start.

 

He finds his words as soon as Hal is back with him at the table.

 

“Hal. I didn’t go to the market at St. Norbert”, it seems as good as any place to begin. “I went back to Thunder Bay.”

 

He rubs at the bridge of his nose, sitting straighter and looking into his eyes: “So, before you start screaming at me - Everything went fine. Got back the money - all of it. Your second laptop is in the duffel bag. Didn’t have to kill anybody for it, either.”

 

He is… sort of bracing himself for another shitstorm, actually, but at least he can prove he had good reasons this time.

 

“I did it, because there was no way we could continue like this. Not after yesterday.”

 

Hal steeples his fingers, lowers his head, effectively hiding his expression. When he does speak, it’s just above a whisper.

 

“I- can you just, give me a minute?”

 

_ Stop. _

 

_ Stop right now. _

 

_ Think. _

 

“You lied to me.”

 

_ He expects you to yell.  _

 

“You ran across the country without telling me.”

 

_ Why does he expect you to yell? _

 

“You risked your life returning to our old address.”

 

_ Yelling won’t help you understand each other. Think, Hal. _

 

“You know, when I saw that note you left me this morning I was surprised at what I didn’t feel. I mean, I was worried about you but also I just can’t be worried about you anymore? Not like that anyway.” He raises his head and tears are already forming in his eyes, from frustration, helplessness, or just plain relief, he cannot say.

 

“What I mean is- you’re going to make decisions I don’t like, just like I’m going to tell you things you don’t like. And… that’s… okay.” He focuses on breathing, pacing himself, counting his breaths. “It’s okay. Okay.”

 

“I’m not going to ask you what would have happened if you’d been caught. I’m not going to  say it was reckless. I’m not going to tell you you should have thought about what would have happened to me if you’d been killed.”

 

“…because I’m starting to realize you’ve already told yourself these things a hundred times over. You do just that every time you act.”

 

He stands up slowly, steadies himself on the table, though his body is trembling as he makes his way around to Dave’s side.

 

And all at once he’s upon him, thrust his arms around his neck, tears having grown into full on sobs as he pulls him tight against himself.

 

“I’m so glad you’re alright.”

 

Dave had been prepared to patiently accept whatever Hal’s reaction would be. He hadn’t seen the hug coming.

 

He hugs back anyway. Holding Hal while he sobbed, carding his fingers through his hair. 

With what he had done, Dave may have not fixed whatever has been twisting and warping their interactions but… if Hal is willing to understand this much, then not everything is lost.

 

They may be  _ stuck together _ , and they’re going to be so for such an indefinite time Dave can’t see far enough into the future to risk an expiration date for it. But it doesn’t  _ have _ to be a prison sentence either.

 

Maybe they’ll have a chance to be functional again. At whatever their partnership is.

 

“So… want me to debrief you?”, he isn’t letting go of Hal, so he won’t see the slight smile on Dave’s face. But he’ll hear a previously absent softness in his tone. 

 

September at Winnipeg has been the worst possible time for Dave to realize how utterly unwilling to leave Hal he is.

 

“In a minute. Just-” Hal doesn’t move from the spot. As long as he doesn’t let go he can enjoy this brief moment where everything is okay. Dave is safe. The two of them are not in immediate danger. No one is going anywhere. There’s no need to think about anything outside of their arms.

 

“So is this going to be a thing? You showing up with cartons of take-out whenever you feel the need to apologize?” He laughs as his body is flooded with relief. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m furious, I’m just not… angry? I don’t know.”

 

“God I would have been out of my mind with worry the whole day, sort of was already even when I thought you were just at the job. But…I… oh god, you’re okay…let’s just start with that.”

 

Eventually he pulls himself away, calms his breaths, wipes away the tears. He takes a seat back at the table, but finds it easier to look at his hands than Dave’s face. It isn’t the first time he’s cried in front of him,  _ won’t be the last, I’m sure _ but he doesn’t think he’s ever felt quite so overwhelmed before, not even when talking about Julie. 

 

Which is weird, since this time, no one was hurt.

 

“Alright,” he says at last. “Tell me about the ‘mission’.”

 

No matter how relieved Dave is at Hal not actually reacting badly to what he had done, he isn’t going to allow himself to miss the contact.

 

So he just grabs his mug, and drinks greedily from it before talking. The salt in the food has left him parched, tongue heavy. He clears his throat and stars:

 

“I got to Thunder Bay the same way we escaped from there - Cargo train service. The layout of the station wasn’t difficult to remember, and it’s not like security presented much of a problem, even when I hadn’t been alone.”

 

“Didn’t take me more than 5 hours to get there. I hid inside a box to fool the inspectors. Worked like a charm, I even managed to get some good shut-eye”, though he does crack his neck, while thinking on how to continue.

 

“Infiltration was plain easy. Whoever ran us out of town, left a guard posted  _ inside _ the apartment and a handful of cameras in some key places, both in there and through the building. He was armed -Standard Browning handgun- but he didn’t seem that interested in his watch. I slipped past the cameras, spied him from the emergency staircase. Used the first opening he gave me to pick the window lock open and enter.” He looks straight at Hal “He never realized I was there, and it’s no figure of speech - Nobody is going to keep on following us.”

 

Dave pauses, uses the moment to take a keychain from his pocket and place it on the table, right in front of Hal’s hand.

 

“I also spent 380 from our funds to get us a clunker in decent condition”, and it’s getting kinda hard to hide how satisfied he is by now. “Drove it all the way from Thunder Bay until I got to Winnipeg.”

 

_ Makes for a good birthday gift, huh? _

 

“For what it’s worth, I’m sorry for lying to you about my location. But you’ve already said exactly why I did it. What I can do is promise it’s not gonna happen again.”

 

A lazy smirk and then, “So - Winnipeg. Stopped on my way here to get us food. Would’ve rather had something home-cooked, but by this point it had gotten late. I wasn’t going to complain about Chinese takeout”, and  _ he has the gall to raise an eyebrow _ , because he is pleased at the turn of events and such is his cheek. “Seems like it was the same for you.”

 

Hal listens intently, the pointed, militant tone of Dave’s report more amusing than intimidating. The odd thing was, delivering the information in that way also seemed to make Dave seem more at ease- perhaps not quite returning him to his element, but making the strange situation just that much more familiar.

 

Maybe that was where they’d both gone wrong. Hal suspected they’d both been so focused on “not screwing up” that neither had allowed themselves to do what they did best. Or maybe they’d just never had the time. In either case, it was probably in their best interest to give each other wide berth when handling their own areas of expertise and just, trust each other to do things right.

 

He tapped at the bridge of his glasses lightly. “Would you believe me if I told you it wasn’t the worst birthday dinner I ever had?” He can’t help the grin that forms when he finally sees Dave’s face and it’s so damn  _ cocky _ .

 

He leans back in his seat, and takes a deep breath. “All right. Good work, Dave. I’ll file away the mission data for later. And um, since we’re being honest…”

 

He stands and goes to retrieve the sad, mostly empty bag he’d managed to bring with him on their first night. 

 

“I… was lying…”

 

There’s a heavy, metallic thud on the table that seems to echo in Hal’s ears for hours.

 

“…about the gun.”

 

When was the last time they had laughed together? Smiled at each other? David can’t remember it, and his only conclusion was that their partnership had gotten more damaged than they had thought, way before Thunder Bay. They could work on it now, though. Now that both of them were willing to.

 

He tries to keep that in mind when Hal confesses about the gun.

 

Serious all over again, he exhales, and closes his eyes for a second. As he opens them, he keeps them low - his voice not bereft of kindness:

 

“I had suspected that much. Just wasn’t going to start digging in you bag to check it.”

 

David’s hand reaches around the handle of the M9. He checks it’s unloaded, field-strips it with ease as he talks, as natural as if he were worrying prayer beads between his fingers.

 

“Lost CIA’s Sig Sauer in the river, y’know.”

A pause and then: “I can see why you hid the gun away. Doesn’t mean I like it, I would’ve been way calmer if I had been sure this one was around, but…”

 

He’s suddenly growing more and more somber. Not angry. Not severe. Just… <i>worried.</i>

 

“That night, you took a shot at someone. I remember that clearly enough.”

 

He doesn’t have anything better than a handkerchief to clean the gun but he can do that much.

 

“Wanna talk about it, or–?”

 

It was Hal’s turn to be surprised at an unexpected show of understanding, Snake merely reaching calmly for the gun to perform routine maintenance. Hopefully his unwillingness to say anything before hadn’t left things beyond repair.

 

“You’re probably going to think it’s stupid,” he said at last. “Which, is fine, really. I understand that. What with your history…”

 

“…Maybe that’s a poor choice of words. Or… maybe it isn’t. It’s the one that comes to mind.” 

 

There really wasn’t any other way to say it than to just come out and say it. Anyway, there was half a chance Dave already knew.

 

“I really…struggle with the idea of killing, hell even hurting other people. Maybe that sounds a little mundane, but I’ve just had it ingrained in me since I was a kid. ‘ _ Use your brain Hal. If you have to fight you’ve already lost.’ _ ” He mimicked a deeper voice, an overbearing imitation of the one he remembered from his childhood.

 

“I dunno, maybe that didn’t even matter. I don’t think I have the disposition- just, it was really important to my father because of who _ his _ father was.”

 

“Military guy like yourself, you’ll know all about the Manhattan Project.”

 

“I do”, Dave nods, interest piqued. He wants Hal to continue, but…

 

“Before you go on - Because,I  _ want _ to listen to what you have to say”, and he leaves the gun on the table, now clean and ready (though still unloaded), to take Hal’s hand in his. “You have to know, you didn’t kill him, Hal.”

 

Calm and serious, Dave looks for Hal’s eyes, squeezing at his hand. Light physical contact for reassurance in something he knew had been tormenting the other man. Yet another thing eroding at his nerves during all these weeks since their escape.

 

He had known since the very start Hal’s hands would never get completely used to the weight of a gun. Even as their lessons progressed and Hal’s aim got better, his movements more effective under Dave’s training regime.

 

“You did what you had to do, got a good shot in, and even then - Nobody died that night. So, stand at ease.”

 

His stay at Thunder Bay had been short. But extracting information from gossipy used cars salesmen had been, again, the opposite of difficult. Their little car chase had been the talk of the city during weeks. Dredging vessels still looked for their corpses, though the rhythm of their search had decreased after the first five days.

 

He lets go of Hal’s hand.

 

“You can tell me now. If you still want to.”

 

“I…” Hal’s though process is all but halted. “Are you sure?” he asks, knowing that Dave is not the type of person to make such claims without evidence. If he says is, Hal has no choice than to believe it.

 

He sighs with relief, grips Dave’s hand tightly in response and feels a weight he’d grown accustomed to fall from his shoulders. Of everything he’s been brought or told tonight, this is somehow the greatest possible gift he could have received. 

 

For the second time that night, he needs a moment to process what Dave has told him.

 

“It’s silly right? To be so relieved? Just one man, a man who was out to kill us, and knowing that he’s not dead I…”

 

But then, how does the saying go?  _ One death is a tragedy, one million is a statistic. _

 

“Wouldn’t be talking if I wasn’t sure. The guy who told me had the newspaper clipping stuck on a big corkboard. Big fan of cars, said he had followed the case  _ obsessively _ ”, a pause and then: “Haggling went better after that talk, actually. I got us a discount for the Ford Cortina.”

 

The relief in Hal’s face, so plain to see, is kind of contagious. Invites him to be… well. Reassuring. 

 

“It’s not stupid to feel relief at  _ not taking a life _ , Hal. If after what I’ve told you, you still think there’s anything to admire on the kind of life I’ve led…”

 

And if his self-deprecation gets invited to the party, then it doesn’t matter.

 

“In any case - It’s good that you are prepared for life-or-death situations. It’s even better that you haven’t had to make that call just yet.”

 

_ I’d rather have you alive, _ goes unsaid.

 

Hal tries to respond, but the words simply die in his throat.

 

_ It’s different when you’re a soldier. _

 

_ I respect that you’ve risked your life for a cause, even if it means there’s blood on your hands. _

 

_ I don’t think that makes you a hero but- _

 

_ I don’t think I’m any better than you. _

 

“I just don’t think I could ever prioritize my life over someone else’s,” he says at last. “When you start down that path… there’s… there’s always a greater cost.” 

 

“It’s like what I was saying before, my father was pretty adamant about non-violence. He and, well, I think everyone assumed the reason he’d been wheelchair bound since birth was due to my grandfather’s work with radiation.”

 

In all honesty - If Hal were to talk about  _ risking your life for a cause _ , Dave would’ve been quick to assure him there had never been a worthwhile one.

 

As it is, what Hal says provides Dave with further insight. It’s only very recently that Hal has started speaking about his past, about his own family - He had never pushed for it before and Hal hadn’t been willing. 

 

He… listens. But doesn’t quite know what to do. Or say. And an affirmation on how  _ David _ would prioritize Hal’s life over anyone else isn’t quite what they need, right now. 

 

“With radiation…”, he nods, and tilts his head. He had known about Dr. Emmerich being wheelchair-bound but…

 

He waits for Hal to keep on talking, committing the data to memory.

 

“Yeah um, if you can believe it, my grandfather never really explained his work to his son. Not really.” He grimaces. “It wasn’t until my father was in school when a classmate of his, the son of Japanese immigrants showed him photos of the aftermath that he began to understand.”

 

“…Running away from your sins is practically the family business, but I guess it skips a generation.”

 

He shakes his head, “It just doesn’t seem possible that something so huge could be atoned for with a single life, or even two or three. I just- don’t want to add another page to my family’s dark history.”

 

Quietly, Dave offers: “Shame works in strange ways. Whatever happened fifty years ago, it can’t possibly be your fault.”

 

He shakes his head: “I don’t think you’re in any danger of adding to the family legacy, anyway.” If it was about nuclear weapons at least. Or was it about the loss of human lives, in a more general sense?

 

He… felt like he could understand it, in a way. Even if he had murdered his commander and mentor, the man who had revealed to him he–

 

_ No. Not now. _

 

Back to the present - What had been Hal’s dreams and hopes for the future? Before everything started crumbling down for him? Before Dave had gone and grabbed him to save him from Guantánamo, completely uncertain of having any kind of destination beyond ‘staying alive’?

 

“Maybe you’re right. Is… it weird that it makes me feel better to hear you say that? Ten minutes ago you didn’t know about any of this but,” he looks at Dave, somewhat at a loss, “…thanks.”

 

“I don’t know, maybe that’s why I was keen to hack into government systems in the first place? I mean, to see if I could do it, of course- but also, I guess there was an appeal to the idea of subversive actions, revolutionaries, taking down the machine from the inside- literally.” He rolls his eyes. “Maybe the next time I try to help take down a government I should do a little research into who I’m working for.”

 

It’s weird to talk about the past in such frank terms. Even though Dave knows his crimes exactly, they’d never been much of an after-dinner topic of conversation, as much as the two of them went in for that anyway. It seems surreal, all of it. Not the last several months- Hal can recall each moment in brutal clarity.

 

No, it’s the years before that are a blur. Had he really spent two years on his own in that awful apartment? It is an awful, selfish thought, but he finds himself almost glad for the events that brought Dave to his door. At least, now he… has a goal? Even if it is only to “stay alive”, which is more than he can say for his time as a recluse.

 

But even that isn’t true. It’s not just a matter of self-preservation. There’s so much more to be done. Survive, sure. But a host of other things he hadn’t had the opportunity for on his own.

 

_ Cooperate. _

 

_ Share. _

 

_ Compromise. _

 

Maybe it isn’t right to be thankful for the circumstances that led him here. But he can at least appreciate the opportunities he’s been afforded.

 

“If everyone looked into who are they really working for, this world probably wouldn’t be like this”

 

And he is including himself there.

 

Pausing, because he realizes the utter hypocrisy of comforting Hal with advice he doesn’t follow himself, “… Can’t live regretting the past, Hal.”

 

For Dave, that’s the kind of thing you have to say out loud to believe it, yourself. And this time he wants to. Maybe if he repeats that enough times, defiantly enough, he’ll find the resolve to make it true.

 

Maybe it’s time he puts on the table the other reason he went back for the money? Self-preservation is not enough. Survival is not the same as living. And Winnipeg– he was sick of Winnipeg. And he’d bet Hal was the same.

 

Looking at him directly, sincere and determined: “Where do you want to go? Now that we can.”

 

He is not going to keep on taking these decisions alone.

 

“Go West, young man.” Hal smiles, glad for the vote of confidence.

 

“It’s- still a long shot, but that job I mentioned… I didn’t want to commit to it without a way of getting there, because it’s pretty far out…”

 

“But that cafe job? I think it’s mine if I can get out to Kaslo. We uh, don’t have a place there, but maybe we can get one? Now that you’ve brought Akane back,” he glances meaningfully at the bag Dave has brought inside, “I can get to work planning our next move.” 

 

“It might take a couple of days to pull it all together, think we can make it?”

 

“Kaslo, huh”, Dave mutters. Pulling facts from the back of his mind. Small town in British Columbia, a little bit touristy in summer… Surrounded by forests and mountains. Plenty of stuff for him to do, and Hal already has the job.

 

It only takes him a couple of seconds to agree.

 

“I’m sure we can make it”, and there’s such certainty in that sentence. He went on a 700 miles trek just so they could. “ We have a car. We have the money to make a road trip of it, rent a cabin once we’re there.”

 

The corner of his lip may be quirking a little, even. “I’m trusting you with the planning, then. Just knowing we’ll be out of this hellhole already makes it all the better - so take your time.”

 

The entire room is filled with so many ghosts. Some of them lingering from their previous conversation, another saluting him from the corner of the counter… And Dave quiets them all..

 

Having some hope is a rare event these days. He wants to savor it.

 

“I don’t want to stick around any longer than we have to either,” he confesses as he retrieves the spare laptop, starts inspecting it for damage. Dave had even remembered to bring the power cable, thank god. He doesn’t even have to say it out loud, Hal can read the desire to put the city behind them clear as day.

 

With a gentle ‘click’ he opens the computer and soon it’s running happily on the table. 

 

“We can at least get an idea of rental availability tonight. I’ll wait to hear back on the job before setting down anything concrete.” It was amazing how differently he felt, having a goal with concrete tasks to complete. 

 

“So that’s my plan for the night. What’s yours?” His eyes flicker from Dave to the counter and back without judgement, just curiosity. “Do you need to…?”

 

Dave tenses up for a second, realizing what Hal is trying to do without saying it out loud. 

 

He shakes his head.

 

“No, thanks”, and there’s a second of hesitation, but.. he still sounds pretty damn sure when he adds: “I’m quitting.”

 

_ This thing almost killed you. _

 

“What I need is to get some shut-eye. I’m pretty sure it won’t be that hard. Day was one hell of a ride.” 

 

And if he looks taciturn, looking away and toying with his lighter… well, he’s deep in thought. They’ll have to work out a system. It’s not like his nightmares are going to magically vanish away just because he said so.

 

But truth to be told, this is something he has been thinking about since the previous day.

After all, that “ _ can’t even keep his hands to himself _ ” may have been said in a moment of anger but– what had been entirely true, was that he had put Hal in harm’s way. Which was one of the things he had been trying to prevent in the first place.

 

“Okay then,” Hal says no more, doesn’t even rise to dispose of the bottle, just turns to his computer and begins setting things up so he can work. 

 

“This won’t take long but…ah… do you… want me to take a shift?” It’s been a few weeks since they slept according to such a system, and the extra warmth had been a definite advantage in the cold, but that was before Hal understood the reality of the situation. 

 

_ And _ there was the terrible, awful thing he’d said before. Had he actually properly apologized for that? Would Dave believe him if he did? He has a feeling this night is going to be a crucial one and he has limited time to try and show Dave that he’s not afraid of him, not afraid to be  _ near him. _

 

“I-I’d just as soon keep the same schedule we have now, but…”

 

David bites at his lip. Can’t help playing with the sparkwheel of the lighter, counting every other second with it.

 

“Is that what you want?”, he asks in the end. Because… he needs to make sure. Before they start making any kind of arrangement, whether to sleep separately or to figure out a system so Dave feels it’s safe to drift off to unconsciousness without alcohol to dull his possible reactions.

 

He sighs. Any of those will work, but it’s not his call to make.

 

“You tell me.”

 

And a number of possible answers flash behind Hal’s eyes.

 

_ It’s fine either way. You should do what makes you feel comfortable. It doesn’t really make a difference to me. _

 

“Yeah.” He snaps the laptop shut.

 

“Maybe it’s not the most practical solution now that we have something worth taking, besides our lives, anyway…” he traces a finger on the table’s edge. 

 

“Look we can… talk about it more if you think that would help, or not if it’s just going to complicate things for you. And we can try it out for now, and if it doesn’t work we can go back to shifts.”

 

“And if there’s an accident- I understand it’s only that, okay? We’ll just take it slow.”

 

Of all the reasons he thought Hal could’ve had to want to keep on sharing the mattress…

 

He’s puzzled enough to speak plainly: “I don’t want to talk about it, no.”

 

He doesn’t really want to explain why he wants to continue. Isn’t sure about why this is, how can he put it in words? But what he does appreciate is… the trust. After all that has happened, Hal still trusts him, despite his words. And understands him enough to be making this kinds of offerings, in such a way it’s clear for Dave it’s not about Hal  _ pitying _ him.

 

It’s not so much about words, between the two of them. They still need to learn and communicate, but in the meantime, actions can still speak louder.

 

They have been living together for months and it’s still kindness the thing that confuses Dave the most.

 

He rubs at his forehead, considering his options, and speaks at last “I’ll take a shower, and then I’ll go to bed. Join me whenever you want.”

 

The sparkwheel clicks under his thumb, callused enough to not feel the rough texture of it. The sound of it echoes closer for him than his own voice, quiet and warm, adding at last:

 

“Thanks.”

 

There was that word again. So simple, yet Hal will do anything to keep hearing it. The smile on his face is absolutely not met by a growing warmth on his cheeks.

 

“Let me just do a few preliminary searches and I’ll be right with you,” he says, opening the computer again, finding comfort in its familiar glow. 

 

They hadn’t spent much time looking into Kaslo in the past, dismissing it as too remote to be obviously useful. Now, however, Hal sees the appeal. Most of the properties available are short term rentals meant for summer vacationers, so odds are they’ll luck out coming in during the fall.

 

He sighs as he checks out the route there. Over eighteen hours. Can the car Dave procured handle that? Can they?  _ Should they? _ Dave still hasn’t fully healed, hasn’t  _ let  _ himself, honestly. Will he be able to convince him that they should take it easy for a bit?

 

Dave doesn’t remember being ever so doubtful before.

 

Then again, it had been… _ years _ since the last time he had shared so much as space with anyone else, let alone cared so much about another person. He wants to do it right.

 

Hal’s smile is confirming him, right now, of having done the right thing. He answers to it with one of his own, and a hand on Hal’s shoulder giving him a short pat before disappearing into the bathroom.

 

A hot shower was just right what David’s sore muscles needed, washing away the painful element of his exhaustion, loosening them up enough to relax. And yet… If he were to say he’s completely calm about getting into bed with absolutely nothing to be a buffer between him and his subconscious, with Hal right beside him–

 

He’s supposed to have stopped lying, hasn’t he?

 

So, Dave gets out once he’s done, toweling himself dry just like the last night. Puts on some boxers, before getting out of the bathroom, not giving time to his panic to rise again, sliding under the blankets. Hal is there already, eyes closed. Still awake, by the sound of his breathing, but tranquil and unmoving. Serene.

 

Peaceful.

 

David throws an arm around Hal, holding himself in place. Anchoring himself.

The sag of the mattress and brief rush of cool air as Dave finds his way to the bed are both familiar. But Dave’s arm pulling him securely against his chest is a bit of surprise, and Hal’s shoulders jump ever so slightly before he relaxes and allows the warmth to lull him back into his dreamlike state. 

 

He does manage, though a small sigh and a few words before drifting off to sleep, mind and body weary. Hal hopes the rest of his twentieth year won’t be quite so taxing.

 

He voices no platitude, nor command. Nothing more than a hope.

 

“Have a good night, Dave.”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With this in its place, we've finally completed the first arc of our AU <3 It's been an honor, guys :3 We're taking a break before tackling arc 2, but rrst assured there's more to come!

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry for posting this all out of order folks. With this installment in its proper place in spot #4, arc one of our series will be complete. We're really excited about what's to come. ^^


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